Poles
by JessieJay13
Summary: How was Derek going to survive this evening? Or was it: how was Derek going to survive the evening without giving away his massive, pathetically unrequited crush on Stiles? There was no way he was getting out of watching Stiles pole dance without questions, not when Boyd knew damn well how much he liked Stiles and would make sure to drag him along kicking and screaming if he had to


**A/N: this fic is in response to a tumblr post where user xxhistherxx wrote a drabble, a conversation where Scott revealed to Derek's betas that Stiles used to pole dance at Jungle. xxhistherxx then invited anyone who wanted to finish the fic to do it. soooo here it is!**

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Derek almost dropped the mug full of tea he'd just poured himself, only his preternatural reflexes preventing him from making a racket that would draw far too much attention to exactly how much the conversation in the other room was affecting him.

Stiles was a pole dancer.

 _Stiles was a fucking pole dancer._

 ** _Stiles was a fucking pole dancer and he was going to dance for them._**

Jesus christ, how was Derek going to survive this evening? Or maybe the question was: how was Derek going to survive the evening without giving away his massive, pathetically unrequited crush on Stiles? There was no way he was getting out of watching the show, not without questions and not when Boyd knew damn well how much he liked Stiles and would make sure to drag him along kicking and screaming if he had to.

Most of the time, Boyd was a great friend. And then sometimes he was a _traitor_ who offered up a fifty like it was pocket change just to get Derek's crush to dance for him and make Derek spontaneously combust on the inside/make a damn fool of himself.

Stiles was still bemoaning his nosy, obnoxious friends when Derek finally forced himself to emerge from the kitchen. The rest of them were ignoring him, all grinning in anticipation as they collected their coats and purses and headed for the door. Boyd gave Derek a sly smile.

"There you are!" he said. "I was just about to come get you. Did you hear? Stiles is gonna pole dance for us. Won't that be fun?"

"Fun," Derek repeated, hoping his flat tone conveyed exactly how many different ways he was going to make Boyd pay for this. "Right."

"You coming too?" Stiles asked, leaning against the door with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans—skinny jeans that were _far_ too tight for the kind of movement he was intending to do, which meant he would have to take them _off_ , and Derek did not know how to process that information just yet.

"Of course he is!" Erica cried, latching onto Derek's arm and dragging him toward the door with the rest of them, not even waiting for Derek to put his mug down. "Like any of us would miss this show!"

The drive to Erica and Boyd's apartment wasn't long, so it was only a few minutes before the whole group of them were crowding into their back room. A collapsible metal pole was already set up in the middle of the room, the kind Derek knew could be locked into place or allowed to spin freely with the dancer's movements.

Derek hung back as Stiles examined the pole critically, messing with the switch and testing the pole's level of resistance on the spin setting with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Where did you even _learn_ this stuff?" Isaac asked, still sounding vaguely horrified by the mere prospect. "I mean...Jungle doesn't pay people for this stuff if they don't know what they're doing, do they?"

"Remember senior year when I started letting Allison drag me to the gym three times a week?" Stiles asked. "Yeah, there was a pole dancing class for super cheap. I was intrigued."

"I thought you guys were taking a kickboxing class!" Scott cried.

" _Allison_ took kickboxing," Stiles corrected him. "You just assumed I was taking the same class as her, and I never saw fit to disabuse you of that notion for fear of intense mockery."

"Did anyone know about this?" Boyd asked.

"Danny knows," Stiles said with a smirk. "He was one of my best tippers."

Derek was struck with the image of Stiles in an alluring state of undress, backlit with colorful strobes and with Danny fucking Mahealani tucking a twenty into his shorts. He was not proud of the jealous growl he trapped in his throat, nor the way his claws popped out to snag on his jeans.

"Okay!" Stiles said brightly, clapping loud enough to make all the werewolves flinch. "How we doin' this? Erica, you got music up in this joint?"

Erica got to setting up her ipod in its speaker, humming as she flipped through a playlist to pick a good song.

When Derek looked back to Stiles, he almost swallowed his tongue. Stiles was halfway through pulling his t-shirt off, his arms stretched up over his head to leave his entire lean torso on display. It was positively mouth-watering and Derek was very glad that none of his friends were in a position to see his face, considering they were all paying attention to Stiles and only Stiles.

"Hey, Boyd," the man in question said as he tossed his shirt on the floor. "You wouldn't happen to have a pair of sweats that are way, way too small for you and also textured enough to stick to a pole and not have me sliding off all over the place, would you?"

There was a smirk on Boyd's face as he shot a sidelong look at Derek—a smirk that said he knew _exactly_ how suggestive that phrasing was and _exactly_ how strongly it affected him—and his tone was entirely unapologetic when he said, "Nope, can't say I do."

Stiles sighed expansively but popped the button on his jeans anyway. Derek considered fleeing the room, but the part of him that was needy and desperate and horny would not allow him to pass up the opportunity to see Stiles in his underwear.

It was every bit as amazing as Derek had always expected it would be, only with more muscle than he had expected. Goddamn it, if Stiles would actually dress for his body type, he could anyone he wanted panting after him in a heartbeat.

Derek would have been pretty content with ogling Stiles without censure, but then Stiles had to bend over. _All_ the way over, spreading his legs and pressing his palms to the floor, and that was too much. Far too much for Derek to handle without some very embarrassing situations that everyone with a nose would be subject to.

His saving grace came in Stiles' muffled, "Someone get me some water. If I'm gonna be doing all the real work around here, I better be properly hydrated."

Derek was out the door in a heartbeat, taking temporary refuge in the kitchen. He pressed his overheated forehead to the refrigerator door and let out a shaky breath. He stalled as long as he could in digging a water bottle out of the fridge, but Erica called impatiently for him to hurry up so the show could start and he had to dive back into the lion's den.

At least Stiles was done stretching. Now he was jumping on the spot—Derek made absolutely sure that his eyes did not stray to any part of Stiles that may or may not have been reacting to that motion—and shaking out his limbs. He took the water bottle with a quick thanks and chugged half of it, throat working delectably, before handing it back.

"Phew. Okay. Okay, let's do this," Stiles said, rubbing his hands together. He pointed at Erica. "Hit it, babe!"

The music that came on was somewhere between pop and dubstep with the kind of throbbing bass that made the floor shake and would probably earn them a noise complaint from the neighbors if it went on for very long. Stiles seemed to like it though, smiling at the choice and nodding along. Derek could only thank it for hiding camouflaging the thump of his heart.

Stiles' movements started off slow. He did that thing where he spun around slowly, knees bent as he sunk to the floor, which Derek was pretty sure was the default beginners move. It earned a smattering of applause from Scott and Boyd, and Stiles flipped them off on his next rotation.

Just when Derek was starting to think he might actually survive this, Stiles heaved himself up up _up_ , swung himself around, and then—

There was that flexibility he'd been bragging about. Derek would never have guessed from looking at him that Stiles could do splits like that, especially not while holding himself aloft with arms that bulged with muscle. It was enough to make his mouth go dry and his jeans go tight.

Erica was whooping, and Scott let out a piercing whistle. Isaac's mouth was hanging open. Boyd was waving his fifty dollar bill over his head like a white flag, laughing. Derek was just trying very hard not to cum in his pants or get his drool on the nice carpet.

That mission was made immeasurably more difficult when Stiles finished off one spin by sliding to his knees on the ground and then leaned _back_ as far as he could, his back arched up and his...his _everything_ on full display. With a howl, Erica started throwing dollar bills at him, raining them down on his bare chest, and it was probably only Boyd's presence that stopped her from shoving them directly into Stiles' unfairly tight boxer briefs.

For all Stiles' whining and protests about this little demonstration, he sure seemed to be enjoying it. There was a big grin on his face, the kind that always made Derek a little breathless, and he paused after some moves to bow to his audience with a flourish before launching into the next.

By the time the song wound down and Stiles had two feet firmly on the ground again, Derek was not entirely sure that he wasn't having an out of body experience. What he was sure of was that he had never been so turned on in his entire life.

Stiles pulled his jeans back on but didn't bother to zip button them, which left his treasure trail tantalizingly exposed, and he opted to use his shirt to wipe his face instead of putting it back on. His chest and shoulders glistened with sweat and he was panting for breath in a way that took Derek's mind to filthy and dangerous places.

He almost didn't register that Stiles was approaching him until the man was right there, all muscle and musk and bright grin on his, holding out his hand. When Derek failed to properly interpret the request—his brain was not functioning properly—Stiles tugged the water bottle out of his hand with a chuckle. Derek's face flushed, but Stiles didn't comment further. He did lick his lips though, narrowed eyes looking Derek up and down.

The others were chattering away, excited and impressed, digging more dollar bills out of their pockets to shower Stiles with. Stiles bowed again, thanking them like he was accepting an academy award, and let them all pat him on the back as they started filtering out of the small, overheated room. Then he turned back to Derek.

"What, you're not gonna pay up?" he asked, voice a low rumble in his chest that made Derek want to purr. "I know you're good for it."

Derek didn't say, _I want you to dance for me because you want to, not because I pay you to._ Instead he said, "I...left my wallet at home."

Stiles' eyes flicked down for a moment to where he had his t-shirt in his hands. He slid forward a bit, slowly, until he was closer than normal friend distance. Derek's heart tripped over itself.

"Shame, that," Stiles said, idly fingering the shirt. "Maybe I could... Later, I could, uh...come over? Give you a private showing?"

Derek's mind went entirely blank, the white noise of utter disbelief blocking out any capacity for coherent thought because he was almost certain that Stiles had just propositioned him and that couldn't possibly be right. In his brainless state, what came out of his mouth was:

"I don't have a pole."

Stiles looked up at him then, dark eyes glinting and mouth tugging up at the corners.

"Oh, Derek, you most certainly do," he said on a laugh. "And I definitely wanna take a spin on that."

Scott's cackle of laughter was more than loud enough for even Stiles to hear from the other room, as were the other betas' cheers. Derek didn't care though, not in the least, because Stiles' lips were on his and that was all that mattered.


End file.
